


I remember.

by meggotheeggo



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Childhood Memories, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, DreamSMP - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Ghostbur and Tommy talk about the past, Just give them a break, Light Angst, Memories, Reminiscing, Sibling Bonding, Wilbur Soot-centric, l'manberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggotheeggo/pseuds/meggotheeggo
Summary: The music disc spins to a stop, and the two brothers are left in a deafening  silence. From what his hazy memories tell him, the quiet was once TommyInnit's greatest foe. Lately, that same quiet is not an uncommon state to find the teen in. Wilbur finds himself searching for anything to break the silence. Anything. If not for himself, then for his brother. His poor, traumatised brother. (What did he do to him?)OR, Ghostbur and Tommy talk about what Ghostbur remembers :^)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, stop it - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 238





	I remember.

**Author's Note:**

> really wanted some fluff for these two because they've been through enough :^( they both deserve closure
> 
> i've never written from wilbur's perspective so i'm sorry if it's ooc!! i just really love ghostbur :^)

"So...what do you remember?"

The question catches Wilbur off guard. He knows Tommy hadn't bothered to read his book like everybody else, but it still puts him on the spot nonetheless. He thinks, carefully, before he forms his answer. 

"The good things, really. You, dad and Techno. Being president." He pauses, aware that what he wants to say next will undoubtedly set Tommy off. "Niki."

Tommy grins, unsurprisingly, and Wilbur expects the onslaught of mockings that usually follows comments like that. What is surprising, though, is the way Tommy drops the subject almost as fast as he drops his grin.

"But not the bad stuff?" He gently pushes. Wilbur is grateful for the lack of the boy's usual laughter and boisterous bullying. He wonders when his brother became so grown up.

_ Probably somewhere in the blank spaces of memories, he guesses. _

"I've been told bad things happened, but they're all blank spaces. Judging by everyone's reactions when I mention it, I'd like to keep it that way."

Tommy hums softly, but an unreadable expression crosses his face. Wilbur has heard that Tommy remembers all too well. He's seen it, too, without really understanding it.

The quiet sound of 'Blocks' reaches his ears from where it plays on the jukebox next to them. Wilbur knows it isn't Tommy's favourite disc, his others are scattered across the land, but it's still important. He doesn't know why, but it is. 

They're sitting on the infamous bench outside of the young Vice President's house. The bench, simple as it may be, is a well known part of history, left untouched by even the worst of Tommy's enemies. It's his safe space. Wilbur is honoured that Tommy offered for them to sit here. He sinks into the wooden seat a little more. If he tries hard enough, he can feel the texture of it. He can feel Tommy's steady body heat from their close proximity. It makes him want to lean in like he would have when he was alive.

He sees Tommy's eager expression from the corner of his eye. He wants to know more. Wilbur can tell. Luckily, he finds himself willing to talk about it.

"I remember how big your smile was. How wide you would grin when I told you a joke. Your face would just light up, before-" Before...before what? He can't remember. It hurts that he can't think of what he did, but the guilt clawing its way up his throat makes him almost grateful for his amnesia. "You don't smile much anymore...is that...is that because of me?"

The small sigh Tommy lets out makes Wilbur think he has his answer, but when his brother shakes his head, he's proven wrong. 

"It's not all because of you, Wil." Tommy turns to face the golden sunset, pinks and oranges cascading over his solemn face. He absentmindedly picks at a thread on his sleeve. It's a habit Wilbur has noticed him pick up after Phil asked him to stop biting his nails. "It's just an unfortunate series of events. A big fuckin' mess, y'know?"

His laugh seems strained, it makes Wilbur's chest constrict.

"Don't worry though, big man! TommyInnit is tough. So what if I don't smile so much?" He trails off at the end of the sentence and it leaves Wilbur feeling empty. After a long bout of silence, Tommy manages to speak up again. "Do you remember anything else?"

Wilbur scours his broken mind for a memory to drag to the surface. He has so little to work with now, but what's left is a jumbled mess. It doesn't take him long to find one that makes him feel a little less cold.

"I remember how small you used to be, when Phil first adopted you. You would fall asleep on me every night. You'd curl up on my chest and drool all over me." The comment pulls a small laugh out of Tommy, which in turn makes Wilbur's smile stretch wide across his face.

"That doesn't sound like something I would do. I've actually never been small." 

The laughter increases for a few seconds and somehow, it feels right. It feels like  _ home _ . And Wilbur's heart is full. The urge to reach over and ruffle his brother's hair is overwhelming, and it kills him that he's unable to. He will  _ never _ be able to again. He doesn't even realise he's subconsciously raised his arm to mess with Tommy's hair until he sees the younger boy flinch when his hand is midway through the air. He drops it immediately, and the warm atmosphere is gone.

He doesn't know what he did to Tommy before he died. The memories of that time are like a void. He doesn't know. He almost wishes he did. Almost. But the way Tommy's eyes lit up in fear for that split second causes the ghost to reconsider.

_ Maybe it's best to stay in the dark. People like me more like this. I don't want to know. _

The music disc spins to a stop, and the two brothers are left in a deafening silence. From what his hazy memories tell him, the quiet was once TommyInnit's greatest foe. Lately, that same quiet is not an uncommon state to find the teen in. Wilbur finds himself searching for anything to break the silence.  _ Anything _ . If not for himself, then for his brother. His poor, traumatised brother. ( _ What did he do to him? _ )

"Do you remember when you used to call me Wilby?"

He watches Tommy's face turn a bright red, and laughs as the younger spews out an impressive chain of expletives, each one dripping with more and more embarrassment. 

"-so fuckin' mean, why would you even-"

It takes 57 seconds for Wilbur to get a word in. He times it.

"I liked it, y'know. 'Wilby', it's cute. I remember the first time you called me that." Tommy still looks pissed, but the amused look in his eye urges Wilbur to carry on. "You ran inside from the back garden, dirt all over your hands and knees, trailing muddy footprints behind you, and shouted 'Wilby! Come see the massive fluffy things I found!'. I expected to find that you'd trapped an innocent sheep or something, but they were bees. You told me you wanted to mind control them. I was too caught up in the nickname to tell you that wasn't possible." 

The laugh that comes from Tommy isn't as loud or brash as before, but it's genuine, and that's all that matters. Wilbur has and will always treasure that memory, dead or alive.

"You called us Wilby and Techie. Techno would never admit it, but he loved to hear you call him that."

Tommy's posture slumps a little bit more at the mention of his anarchist brother, but the smile stays. 

"Yeah...I remember." He says, nostalgia and longing written all over him. He stares at the ground briefly, dirty shoe lightly kicking the already upturned grass. His unkempt hair hangs low over his eyes, and Wilbur worries that he's overstepped and made him cry, but Tommy's voice comes again, soft and free of tears.

"Do you remember...that time I was really sick?" Wilbur shakes his head. "I was, what, five? I had a fever and I was coughing badly. I felt like shit, basically. Phil was out on an adventure, and Techno was farming, so it was just me and you in the house. I was shaking so you wrapped me in your favourite sweater, made me soup, and played me a song to send me to sleep." The soft smile that graces Tommy's face leaves the ghost in a state of confusion. 

"When I try to think of that...I can only feel sadness, and worry. Why is that such a happy memory for you?" Wilbur questions. The query has been on the tip of his tongue since the boy started his story. 

"Because you were taking care of me, idiot. Made me feel all loved and shit. I don't know." Tommy is clearly getting defensive now, put on the spot by such a probing question. It's what he does when he doesn't know how to handle his emotions. Wilbur remembers that much. "It's one of my happiest memories…" He adds quietly, avoiding eye contact.

A comfortable silence settles over the two, not empty like the previous times. It's calm. Fulfilling. Familiar. Wilbur watches as the blonde removes the music disc from the jukebox, carefully settling it into his inventory. There's a small glimpse of an appreciative smile on Tommy's face, before his usual mischievous grin settles in its place. 

"Hey, Wil, you got any more books back home?" The ghost barely has a chance to nod before his brother is screaming 'Race you, big man!', taking off in the direction of L'Manberg. Wilbur follows after him, shaking his head fondly. He knows he can beat the lanky teen easily. Flying is far faster than running, but he thinks he'll let Tommy win. Next time, though, he won't be so kind. 

_ Next time _ . 

The thought makes him feel brighter than the dozen floating lanterns above the town.


End file.
